


Hold my hand, and we won’t crash and burn

by extranuts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek and planes do not agree with one another, F/M, Gen, Isaac is old enough that a relationship with Peter is not that creepy, M/M, Multi, Stiles is a pilot, aerophobia, and everyone is relatively happy, it really isn't, pilot AU, scott has a baby, who flies planes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extranuts/pseuds/extranuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Stiles is a pilot and Derek is not okay with planes.</p><p>The Pilot AU you never knew you needed/what happens when there is a lot of Cabin Pressure, too much chai tea, warm apple muffins, and Dean Winchester’s aerophobia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should preface this with a note that everything you are about to read is very stupendously poorly researched. I tried, okay, but I can't digest this stuff and asdfghjkl can we all just please ignore any glaring, gaping holes in my logic/knowledge. Or point it out. And then I can fix it.

 

The thing about Stiles is that things _happen_ to him. It’s not like he actually courts trouble (anymore) or that he _likes_ dealing with massive chains of vending machines toppled over in rapid succession. Things just happen, and Stiles generally finds himself right in the middle of it all and, more often than not, with the blame placed entirely on his shoulders.

Stiles can even tell when things are going to happen. Most days, Stiles will pop out of bed and small things will start happening. He’ll wake up in the morning and his toothpaste will fall from his hands into the toilet. He’ll accidentally tell the kid next door that he’s adopted, or find that he’s been drinking his coffee with milk that’s been gone for seven days and that’s the reason why his tummy is throwing a fit. Small things, small things that Stiles can leap over and (mostly) forget. 

On the days where nothing happens, where Stiles is able to get breakfast and coffee, head down the street to his car without tripping over his elderly neighbor, drive to the airport without a single red light stopping him, he knows for sure that Something _Big_ , something Vending-Machine-Dominos-Big is going to happen.

On some rare occasions,these things lead to reasonably satisfactory endings. Stiles can think of three separate occasions where this has happened: Scott, Thomas, and his Dad’s eating habits. The exact details of what transpired during all these events, however, are better left unexplained and forgotten by all parties involved

Mostly though, Stiles survives the aftermath of these happenings, races through life with enough enthusiasm that he’s able to pick up a few friends and a promotion or two along the way. It  _works_ , and Stiles doesn’t think that life could get any better until, all of a sudden, it does. 

 

It’s Thursday. As a rule, Stiles hates Thursdays with a burning passion for no reason at all. There might have been fairly good reason when this rule was implemented, but if there was, Stiles has forgotten it. But its become a thing now, where Stiles wakes up on Thursdays, lets himself sleep in an extra ten minutes, chugs down twice as much coffee, and spends the rest of the day wishing it was over. 

This is why when he wakes up one Thursday morning raring to go and humming to himself, Stiles should have taken this as a sign of eminent disaster and just called in sick.

Instead, he brushes it off because he has a long weekend coming up and he _did_ spill coffee over his shirt. This Thursday would be just like any other Thursday; Scott will bring Thomas into work, and Boyd is due to pass him those video games he ‘picked up’ from his ‘friend’. Then, Stiles can race back home and sleep off hit jetlag and maybe hop over the Scott's house for dinner and cake. 

But then things start not-happening. He holds open the door for a pretty girl on the way out of his apartment complex and gets a small smile in return. The cute drive-thru guy laughs at the totally lame joke he made and Stiles is pretty sure he put his number on one of the napkins.  He finds a parking space in record time and checks that _yes_ there really is a number and smiley face scrawled on a slightly greasy napkin.

It’s a bloody good day, this Thursday, and it doesn’t last.

He reaches work to find that his schedule has been tampered with. Poorly and cruelly tampered with.  Somehow, instead of a long weekend off after last week’s tampering, Stiles is going to be on a ten-hour flight to Paris so that he can fly another plane _back_ about seven hours later. Not cool.

A closer look reveals that this change makes things a great deal easier for Allison, and a quick call confirms that Scott was the one who did the schedule planning. Stiles whacks his head against the board. There is no way he is getting out of this change. The only good thing that comes out of this will be the baked goods that Allison will make him in apology, and even those don’t serve to fully cheer him up.

“Scott, I swear - ”

Stiles bursts into Scott’s office on a whirlwind of fiery rage to find little Thomas curled up on the sofa in the cutest way possible (the cruel manipulation and trickery or it all), and Scott conspicuously missing.

Stiles sighs, because this means that Scott isn’t going to show till Stiles actually has to fly off and can’t spend the next few hours beating him to death with his bag.

(His bag, which, as Stiles realizes sadly, does not carry a change a clothes, video games, books or anything to withstand a long haul flight across several different time zones. It does contain his schedule, one notebook, his phone and pair of fluffy socks.)

 In short, Stiles is Very, Very Angry with Scott, because Allison has obviously been schedule tweaking over Scott’s shoulder to maximize their family time. It’s the third time this _little inconvenience, sorry Stiles,_ has happened in a month and Stiles is so not doing this again-

Thomas stirs in his sleep and rubs a tiny fist across his face. Stiles caves. It’s not the kid’s fault that his daddy is a whipped potato. With some luck, he might even get through this flight without incident.

“The things Uncle ‘Tiles does for your childhood,” he whispers, giving Thomas a goodbye pat on his head. Thomas gurgles contentedly and really, it should be illegal for a child to be so cute. Stiles makes a mental note to lock the door on the way out in case Jackson decides to peek in and squish Thomas to death. Scott totally owes him for this.

He still pinches all the mars bars and some of the Easter eggs out of Scott’s Super Secret candy drawer on the way out though, because the loss of a weekend is Seriously Business, and Stiles is hit with the nagging feeling that it’s going to be a rough one. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Stiles is a pilot and Derek is not okay with planes.
> 
> The Pilot AU you never knew you needed/what happens when there is a lot of Cabin Pressure, too much chai tea, warm apple muffins, and Dean Winchester’s aerophobia.

And boy, Stiles is just completely spot-on. From the start, he’s relegated to the very bottom of business class, far away from the pilot’s cabin and, by extension, Lydia. Not that it matters, Stiles supposes, because Lydia is still pissed with him after that one incident with the sparkly fruit wine and her uniform.

Stiles is bustled into a seat, given orange juice, and told very firmly to stay put and not harass anyone for alcohol. And that is unfair really, because who can survive a ten-hour flight without some alcohol based nectar for motivation?

Stiles pouts for as long as possible, stopping only because his face begins to hurt and nobody (aside from Isaac, who is _nice_ and sneaks him a tiny glass of champagne) pays any attention to him. He does manage to talk Danny into trading him two crosswords and his iPod in return for cute drive-thru guy’s number, though, so that’s excruciating boredom partially settled.

“Can I amble in for a nice little pilot to pilot chat with Jackson?” he asks when Lydia sweeps by him. She doesn’t even deign to answer. Although it’s not like Jackson would really want to talk to Stiles anyway - he hasn’t quite gotten over Stiles actually being better at him when it comes to piloting. Stiles secretly thinks that it’s like a hammer to Jackson’s ego whenever he sees Stiles fall over and remembers that Stiles actually _beat_ him. It’s brilliant.

Jackson doesn’t _really_ mind Stiles though, because everyone comes around after a while; even Lydia, who takes pleasure in Stiles’ misery, but takes him out for waffles all the time anyway. It makes Jackson sulky, but Stiles is pretty sure that Lydia has progressed from being lady-goddess-of-his-eternal-future to terrifying-lady-goddess-who-he-is-not-romantically-attracted-to.

It’s complicated, but they all seem to like it fairly well.  

Stiles settles down in his seat and occupies his time with piling as many spare blankets and pillows on himself as he possibly can. He’s up to twelve when the passengers start filing in.

And of course, the universe isn’t satisfied with taking away his long weekend – _no_. Just as Stiles has to break for air, the hottest person to every exist walks right by him. Tall, dark, sex-on-legs is understandably baffled by the squeaking lump of blankets staring at him.

“Hi?” Stiles offers.

Hot-guy just glares like Stiles is stabbing his kitten with a breadknife, walks stiffly on to the seat furthest from Stiles and swings his bag onto the compartment above. His (very snugly fit) black t-shirt rides up as he does so, revealing just a silver of hard, tanned, totally ripped torso.

Stiles whimpers a bit, because _of course_ shit like this happens to him, and returns to his blanket burrow. Maybe if he grovels long enough, Danny will return drive-thru guy’s number.

 

Five minutes before takeoff, there is a very loud crash, and then the sound of someone being smacked across the head very, very hard.

‘Peter, I swear, if you won't shut up about crashing into the sea I will rip your neck out and throw you out the window. Laura will understand."

And yeah, hot-guy’s voice is pretty damn sexy as well, Stiles realizes. He still looks remarkably angry for someone holding a glass of champagne and a paperback copy of the hobbit, though.

There is a swish of cloth and perfume before Lydia appears, pretty, sweet, and absolutely terrifying at the same time. She assesses the situation, because she is a professional (unlike, say Isaac who is unashamedly gawping at someone just out of Stiles’ sight) and presses her hands together. 

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

Stiles peeks over the seats and sees hot-guy shooting eye-daggers at the older man seated next to him who looks incredibly unfazed.

"No problems, darling," he says,"my nephew here is just a little-"

He is cut off by a semi-growl from hot-guy and shrugs good naturedly, throwing the largest shit-eating grin ever back. 

"I don't think I can sit with him for ten hours," hot guy says, voiced pinched, "Are there any other seats avaliable?"

The man -Peter, presumably- grins at Lydia and flahses a wink that actually manages to throw her off for a second. "I'm cool with anything, dearest." Which is just so many levels of creepy, no matter how attractive he may be for his age. Stiles is pretty sure the man is either magic, or very evil

Clearly, Lydia seems to think so too. After a few more minutes of discussion and hand gestures that Stiles can’t interpret, Lydia is plucking blankets off him and stowing them away with both tidiness and accuracy. With one hand.

Behind her, hot-guy is looming menacingly, still clutching his champagne and his paperback. He’s taken his leather jacket off, and oh god, those _arms-_

“Mr Hale has requested a seat change,” Lydia says, shooting Stiles a warning glance, “And this is the only seat left, so if you don’t mind moving your pillows, _Sir_.”

It’s an order, of course, one that Stiles obeys with swiftness that seems to satisfy Lydia who smiles nicely at hot-guy – Mr. Hale- and leaves them alone. There is an awkward pause that last a few seconds before the plane jerks ever so slightly. Sties barely notices any movement at all, but what he does notice is the way hot-guy flails about and grabs for the chair handle, clinging on for dear life.  It’s very well masked, but Stiles is very observant. He is also very good at recognizing the crazy glint of panic that takes over when someone is afraid of flying. It’s a quirk.

Hot-guy glares even harder, seats himself heavily on the seat next to Stiles and determinedly ignores Stiles in favor of pretending that his little panicky freakout never happened.

Stiles blinks, takes stealthy look at the definition of hot-guy’s biceps, and figures that hell yes, he can deal with _this_ kind of stuff happening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is taking too long to write, why is this taking so long to write/ baurggghh

**Author's Note:**

> just had a thought: someone needs to make a photoset for this, omg how epic would that look/


End file.
